So
you like to jack off? Well, that's just great! Perverts
and sickos like you keep this great
magazine empire afloat. You see, I got a lot
riding here, buster. I got pals that depend on your sick
mind to make ends meet. You shoot loads of cash into many
of my friends' wallets when you shoot your creamy goulash
on the floor. I celebrate and embrace your sick, sick
mind. Wash your hand, and I'd gladly shake it. I couldn't
care less about you, and that's straight from the heart.
But I relish your perverted tendencies. Thank you. Thank
you, thank you, thank you. I like you so much, I'm gonna
help you.

Jim
Goad, world-famous woman-beater and notorious
Jew-lover, asked me to review a pocket
pussy, this
little plastic lubricated tube that some jerkoff porn
company sent to the office. I used it. It wasn't half-bad.
Well, all right--it was better than that. The thing is,
it's not much different from the traditional-style pocket
pussy I've been enjoying for years. During one of my interminable
stints behind bars,
I've become more than a simple masturbator--I've become
a Masturbation Artist. I can ride a pocket pussy like
Evel Knievel rode motorcycles. And, I'm proud to say,
I've fashioned most of these pocket pussies using items
and artifacts within arm's reach of most run-down working-class
homes. I've pleasured myself using gadgets, doodads, and
thingamabobs that, by golly, you can make in the cloistered
safety of your own household. That's right, amigo--why
shell out fifteen to twenty smackers for a cold plastic
tube churned out by some uncaring sex-factory worker down
in the San Fernando Valley when you can make your own
pocket pussy--your own personalized pocket pussy--for
pennies on the dollar?

I
know times are hard for you. You're single and don't have
many prospects. You're not attractive. Blemishes and scars
cover your face and torso. You have bad breath. You don't
have much to brag about down there in Pants Town. Your
package is small and unobtrusive. You are afflicted with
chronic erectile dysfunction. You often wet your pants
against your will. Even when you try to socialize, it's
a disaster. You collect unemployment. Women laugh at you,
both behind your back and to your face. Children run from
you. Even your mother has blocked your phone calls. Your
sister won't let you baby-sit the niece anymore. Your
parole officer wants you to undergo chemical castration.
In a year from now, your liver will fail and your skin
will turn yellow.

You
spend more money on pornography than you do on rent. You
desperately hunt free Internet porn like a wolf ready
to tear into his prey. You stalk the late-night cable
shows looking for perhaps a flash of tit you don't have
to pay for. The folks at Fantasy Video have considered
providing you with your own private booth with a cot in
it because you spend so much time there. You're the patron
saint of jackin' off. But being a loser doesn't necessarily
mean you have to lose all your money, does it? Huh?

At
the sweet, unspoiled age of 16, I was serving two years
in the McLaren School for Boys. That's right--no girls!
So me and some homies were yappin' it up about the pain
of being quasi-attractive, sexually charged young males
with no suitable outlets for our frustrations. Half-jokingly--but
that implies half-seriously--another juvenile offender
began wistfully recalling the legendary "fifi,"
spinning
an endless yarn about the fifi's folklore and its proper
usage. The term "fifi" is Oregon prison slang for a homemade
pocket pussy. This little treasure is made of three components:

1)
The glove. Many
things can substitute for the fine sheen of a rubber
surgical glove...plastic bags, plastic wrap, even a
sock if you're desperate...but nothing compares to the
heights of ecstasy you can reach with a surgical glove.
Trust me on this. The elasticity is real...like an obedient
vagina, the glove stretches to the full girth of your
penis, but no farther. It remains tight. It warms to
friction. A glove's five fingers offer a potpourri of
tightness...almost as if you had five pussies at your
disposal (or five buttholes if you're a rump-wrangler).

2)
Lubrication. Almost
anything wet will do...everything from shampoo to my
own saliva to a raw, uncooked slab of liver. But nothing
on earth can
compare to the sensation--and scent--of some nice, greasy,
old-school pomade. In the Youth Home, I was forced to
use such hair-care products as Blue Magic and Sulfur
8--terrible for a peckerwood's unique hair-care needs,
but superb for lubricating one's fifi. After a while,
I was no longer ashamed to be rubbing greasy kid stuff
on my penis. In my book, pomades have cornered the market
in fifi-lubrication. I'm a greaser, so why shouldn't
my cock be a greaser, too?

3)
A towel. Any
sort of towel is good, so long as it's fluffy. Multiple
sock layers can also make for a really sweet fifi. (Pssst--here's
an idea--run hot water over the towel to add even greater
sensations!)

Lubricate
the glove, snap the glove onto your penis, and roll
the towel around the glove. That's all! Then start jackin'!
Feel free to experiment! The only other rule in makin'
a fifi is to "just have fun."

It's
up to you now. Spread the word to all the perverts.
Share your fifis with friends. A fifi is a great "anytime
gift." It's perfect for parties.

Oh,
I forgot--you don't go to parties. You have no friends.
You're a lonely masturbator. You're a total scrub. But
that's OK. With fifi in hand, now your endless time
spent alone will seem a little less miserable. Jacking
off with your unwanted cock wrapped in a rubber glove,
swabbed with pomade, and wrapped in a towel, you can
almost pretend you're a human being.